


fear not for the future; weep not for the past

by Dialux



Series: jon snow and his parentage [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, R Plus L Equals J, who are the people jon thinks is his mother? LET US SEE!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:43:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialux/pseuds/Dialux
Summary: Jon deserved the truth.She’d fought over that very point with Ned, before he left. Jon hadn’t been so suspicious of his mother’s personality then, though, andyes,if Catelyn told him the truth there would likely be a moon’s turn of irritated looks from her husband to deal with, not to mention a cold bed.And yet.Jon deserved the truth.





	fear not for the future; weep not for the past

**Author's Note:**

> Another addition to the "jon snow will believe anyone is his mother series," this time starring catelyn! 
> 
> Title comes from Shelley, Jon's a sulky teenager, and Catelyn's at the end of her rope in dealing with Stark shenanigans. Assumption is that Ned told Cat... some years back... and he's off on a state trip now. Hope y'all enjoy!

“If you hate me that’s fine,” Jon said, sharply, before turning and running.

Catelyn sighed, inwardly and out. Jon was a better kid than Robb- easier, at least, being both quieter and less temperamental all at once. But when he got angry he tended to stay angry, and he also had a terrible habit of running into the woods when he felt like being alone.

With Ned off to Castle Cerwyn for a week with delegations from all seven kingdoms, and Jon having apparently been in such a bad mood as to snap at Arya and make her cry- Arya,  _crying,_ over something unrelated to chores!- Catelyn had confronted him, and the boy had shouted for well over a quarter hour before fleeing. But now she had a good idea of what was bothering him, and Catelyn didn’t feel remotely ready to deal with it.

Though- staying silent would likely be crueler than telling the truth.

Jon deserved the truth.

She’d fought over that very point with Ned, before he left. Jon hadn’t been so suspicious of his mother’s personality then, though, and  _yes,_ if Catelyn told him the truth there would likely be a moon’s turn of irritated looks from her husband to deal with, not to mention a cold bed.

And yet.

Jon deserved the truth.

Mind made up, Catelyn made her way towards the godswood. She didn’t bother to look at the trees, where Robb always liked to hide; Jon liked his feet planted on solid ground, and Winterfell’s swordsmaster had spent years training that flatfootedness out of him. Instead, she looked at the shadows.

And there he was: Jon, curled into a ball that made him look smaller than his gangly years; hidden in the dark curve of a sycamore overlooking the pools.

Carefully, Catelyn picked her path through the snow and leaves, until she was close enough to feel the heat of the pools’ steam on her frozen fingers.

“I’ve never hated you.”

“Like I’ve never hated you?” was the immediate response.

That stung. Catelyn hadn’t ever been so close to Jon, that was true enough; but she’d never hated him either. To think that he had wasn’t a pleasant thought.

_He’s a child._

“This is about your mother,” she said, instead, keeping her voice soothing.

“Everything is about her,” Jon replied bitterly, after a long pause. “Everyone else knows, though, and it was staring at me all along. You-”

“Everyone knows?” Catelyn demanded. Adrenaline jolted through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. 

“Did you know her?” Jon asked flatly, head poking out of the shadows to level a look almost exactly like Ned’s at her. He sounded more hesitant than angry now, and Catelyn thought she could all but taste the desire soaking through his voice.  _Yes,_ she decided.  _Ned was wrong to keep this from him._  “Was she- how was she?”

“She was very pretty,” Catelyn said slowly. She’d met Lyanna Stark for all of a few minutes at Harrenhal’s Tourney before the girl had run off; what she’d heard of her since hadn’t been very complimentary.

But Ned had loved her- still loved her- and Jon was her only child. Catelyn wouldn’t taint those memories with her own suspicions.

“Pretty, and bright. She could wield a sword better than half the men her age, and if her father had allowed it, she’d likely have entered all the tourneys in the world. And when you’re as small as she was- it’s courage and brains that won her battles, until the last. Ned tells me you get that from her.”

 _Lyanna’s brains,_ had been his actual words,  _and not an ounce of her ambition. He’d disappear for the Wall if I allowed it, accept the black and the oaths without a second glance._

 _Sounds like her brother,_ Catelyn had replied, just as Jon disarmed Robb with a flick of his sword that looked impressive even to her. Ned had looked so surprised, and Catelyn had smiled, slow and wide.  _He is your son as well, Ned, now. And just because he holds his words important doesn’t make him a fool. Or have you forgotten who challenged Theon Greyjoy to a duel of honor when he was not but ten?_

“What did she- look like?”

“Long hair,” Catelyn murmured, eyes closing. “Dark as yours. You’ve her eyes, as well, the shape and the size- though the color’s all Ned’s. Arya’s, as well. Your grandmother’s, apparently.”

“You’re lying to me!” 

Catelyn jerked away, nearly losing her balance on the leaf-strewn ground. When she straightened, Jon’s hands were fisted at his sides and he looked mulishly stubborn. Like Ned had looked, back when Catelyn first pushed him- irritated; somber; regretful but not repenting.

“Her eyes were  _purple,”_ said Jon, and the disgust seemed to swallow him whole. “That’s what that Dornish ambassador said! Her eyes were purple, and she killed herself, and-”

She twisted to fully meet Jon, face to face, and asked sharply, “Who did you think your mother was, Jon?”

He shrank back, just a little, at Catelyn’s face, before straightening defiantly. “Ashara,” he said. “Ashara Dayne.”

“Ah.” Surprise left Catelyn faint. She considered letting Jon keep believing in the lie- it was easier, all truth told- but unfair, in the end, to Ashara Dayne’s memory, to Ned’s own honor, and to this little boy standing in front of her. “I see why you’d believe that.”

“But it isn’t true,” Jon said, defeated.

“No,” said Catelyn gently. She reached forward and wrapped her hand over Jon’s shoulder, using the leverage to sink to her knees in front of him. “No, it isn’t true. But it is past time you knew, I think.”

He stilled, body like stone under her fingers. His eyes- so similar to Ned’s; so dissimilar, too: more hurting, more angry, more bitter- didn’t look away from her.

“Ned didn’t tell you at first because it was dangerous,” Catelyn explained. Better Jon understood this before it was overshadowed by the revelation. If Jon were to spill even a hint of it to anyone- the consequences could be disastrous. “Children have loose lips; and if news reached the King, there might not have been much left of us Starks by the time he was done with us. Better you remain ignorant and loved and safe, Ned thought, even if it was all a lie.”

“Father... committed treason?” Jon whispered. 

“At the end of Robert’s Rebellion, he went to Dorne to find his sister, Lyanna. He found her at the Tower of Joy and slew Arthur Dayne, two others of the Kingsguard- and he entered the tower to find her on a bed of roses and blood.” Oh, how Catelyn had had nightmares after Ned had told her! How cruel the world had been to Lyanna Stark, to Ned, to all those Ned had once named family! “She did not live to see dusk, but she was not alone in the tower. For beside her was a babe, just a few days old.”

Jon frowned. “A babe?” Then, realizing:  _“Me.”_

“Yes,” affirmed Catelyn. “You.”

“But then- my father wasn’t- isn’t-”

“Lyanna was stolen away by a man,” said Catelyn, watching Jon sadly. “Do you remember who?”

He looked numb. Shell-shocked.

“Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“And a son of Rhaegar Targaryen would be...”

“A prince.”

“Not a prince,” corrected Catelyn. “The crown prince. And with Rhaegar dead? He’d be king.”

Jon shook his head. “Nobody’s going to ride to give me a- a- throne.  _Nobody.”_

“And that matters little.” Catelyn cupped his jaw and brushed a lock of hair from Jon’s forehead. “The things Robert Baratheon is known for- restraint is not one of them. He attacks threats with his hammer, and beats them until their blood turns rivers red.” A gruesome picture- she did regret how Jon turned white and strained- but also necessary. Better he be wary now than careless. And if he remembered how Rhaegar died, all to the better. “Do you see why we wished to keep it silent?”

_Understand. Understand that there are no easy choices in this. Understand that we have done the best we can._

Slowly, Jon nodded. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I do.”

Catelyn let her hand drop, and bowed her head. Jon left, but Catelyn remained, silent, shrouded in shadows, under trees that left her shivering and frightened. Finally, she rose and almost walked away, but then paused at the edge to the godswood.

 _The best we can,_ she thought, remembering rumors from the south that Robert would ride north soon.  _Let us pray it will be enough._


End file.
